Revelations
by terrified
Summary: A one-shot. Sherlock and Molly have become increasingly close, leading Sherlock to an important revelation.


_**A/N:** I had this conversation between them in my head all day today as I was at work. So here it is, its full manifestation. x_

* * *

**Revelations**

_Amazing grace, how sweet the sound  
That saved a wretch like me  
I once was lost, but now am found  
Was blind but now I see_

It was Monday and Sherlock Holmes was seated at the second row of pews in an empty church. The church choir sang, as it did every morning, while the reverend conducted a simple morning service. Church doors were always open, but their halls, always empty. So it was no surprise that Sherlock Holmes found himself there. It had turned out to be a marvellous place to escape to, whenever he needed to think. He had Molly to thank for this new revelation.

Sherlock had found himself increasingly drawn to her. If he was being honest, when had he ever _not_ been drawn to her? The point was, after all the drama that had started, stopped, then started again, he had begun seeking her out even more. There was so much he wanted to involve himself in. No longer was it about an arm or a leg, or getting her to 'work things out' with him regarding blood work or isotopes. He was drawn to _her_, and not just what she could do for him.

As he sat in his pew, the soaring voices of the choir floated around him like a soothing balm. The church had splendid acoustics and for a man of music like Sherlock, it was an added bonus to the solitude it provided. Molly did not know he came here, of course. Even though she was the one who had led him here, she had no clue he was sitting right here, among the wooden pews.

In his bid to stay close to her, he had begun asking about more of her day-to-day activities, her personal errands, her hobbies, her must-dos and must-haves. Many a time she laughed it off, chuckling sweetly (to his delight) that such information was going to take up unnecessary space in the hard drive he called his mind. What she had failed to realise, and that he had failed to mention, was that none of it was being stored in his mind. It was being stored somewhere else, somewhere dusty, abandoned and disused because of his fear of misuse. Slowly, however, the dust would lift and sunlight would stream in as Molly gradually made her way into the heart he never spoke of.

This was the only explanation as to why Sherlock Holmes had followed Molly to church. He knew she came here every first Monday of the month, to visit her father's grave at the church cemetery. When she did, so did Sherlock.

"I didn't know you believed in God," came her voice interrupting his contemplations. Her face registered genuine surprise, a pleasant one, of course, but surprise nonetheless at having found him here. "Of all places, a church," she said with a laugh, as she sat herself beside him.

"I don't," was his reply.

He turned to face her, privately enjoying the closeness between them.

"Do you?" he asked.  
"Not quite," she replied, "But dad did. That's why I come here."  
"Ah." he replied, with a knowing, respectful nod.  
"I bring him a few flowers, say a few prayers like he'd want me to…prayers for myself, mind you. And I come in here to just…see if I can find the God he found."  
"And do you ever find his God?" Sherlock asked, his gaze now on the reverend who stood silently by his rostrum.  
"Hmm, at times…" Molly murmured, her gaze forward as well, "I get these little…rushes of peace sometimes. It almost convinces me."  
"Mmm, I see."

They sat silently, comfortably, and watched the reverend as he spoke to the choir.

"What about you then?" she asked.  
"Mmm?"  
"Do you believe in God?"  
"Well, I believe in myself."

Molly paused to chuckle. Trust Sherlock Holmes to say something like that. Sherlock's eyes shone, as he suppressed his own laughter. Taking a deep breath, he cleared his throat and continued.

"You believe in me too," he said, with a smirk, turning to glance at her.  
"I do," she said, nodding in his direction, "I really do."  
"Good." he said, with a satisfied smile.  
"I hate to break it to you though, you really aren't the second coming of Jesus," Molly said, biting her lip to stop from chuckling out loud in a church.  
"I believe, Molly Hooper," he said, his eyes amused, "I am the first, last and therefore _only_ incarnation of myself, thank you very much. The world's only consulting detective."  
"You're right about that," Molly agreed, nodding again.  
"The alpha and omega…" he said, leaning back.  
"The beginning and the end…" Molly continued.  
"Not quite the Prince of Peace though…" he remarked cheekily.  
"You are not Jesus and we'll leave it at that," said Molly with a laugh.

The pair smiled from their little exchange. Sherlock was, in many ways, like a god. There was something divinely indestructible about him. In the bold way he approached life, and in the reckless way he played with it. The only one privy to his true mortality was the woman who sat beside him now. After all, she was the only one who had preserved it. If Sherlock Holmes was to call anyone 'saviour', it would be Molly Hooper.

In a quiet synchrony that had taken shape after many months of increased togetherness, their hands crept stealthily toward each other. Their fingers met tentatively in the small space of pew between their laps, and gratefully intertwined. Sherlock could feel warmth radiate through his insides when his fingers found hers. He could never suppress a smile when their hands found each other. In silence, their hands stayed clasped, visible to no one.

Molly bowed her head as she smiled to herself. It had been a long time to get to this point, for him to see _her_ for who she was and to be who _he_ really was around her. Not the demi-god he thought he was, nor the fallen angel he felt he had become. He was Sherlock Holmes, the cleverest man she knew who had the frostiest heart only because it had burned so badly before.

While they sat with their hands held, Molly turned to glance at the man she loved and saw that he was deep in thought. Giving his hand a gentle squeeze, she shook him from his thoughts as he turned to her, the private smile he reserved only for her on his lips.

"What are you thinking so hard about in a church?" she asked softly.  
"Well, since you asked…" he said, straightening in his seat.

Sherlock moved to his right, closing the gap between the woman he loved and himself. He placed their held hands on his lap, gently drawing circles on the soft, insides of her wrists.

"Do you think, Molly…" he began, tipping towards her with his gaze to the front again.  
"Yes?"  
"Do you think they'd marry atheists in a church?" he asked.  
"What?"  
"Do you think they'd marry ath—"  
"I heard what you said, Sherlock," Molly replied, amused, "But what do you mean?"

His gaze turned to her as he looked at her, slightly perplexed.

"I don't believe in God, you don't believe in God…" he explained, "Are we not atheists?"

Molly's eyes widened as she processed what he was saying.

"Are you asking…" Molly asked, with one eyebrow raised, "If they'd marry _us_in a church?"  
"Well, obviously." he replied swiftly.

The detective stared at the pathologist as she stared back at him. She was stunned, to say the least. He merely returned her gaze with a mixture of confusion and slight worry. Sherlock wondered if he had said something wrong to her, or perhaps something inappropriate, for they were, after all, in a church.

"Has it occurred to you, Sherlock, the irony of asking if atheists could marry before the presence of God?"  
"Hmm, well…maybe 'atheists' is too fixed a label for us, too rigid, too finite…"  
"_What_ are you saying, Sherlock Holmes?" Molly asked, amused and a little desperate to kiss his mouth that twitched in confusion.  
"I'm saying, Molly…"  
"Yes?"  
"That perhaps…maybe…"

He frowned, as though wincing from the clashing philosophies in his head.

"There has to be a god," he said, somewhat resigned.  
"And it's…you?" Molly teased.  
"No, unfortunately not," he said, giving her a quick kiss on the forehead.  
"_Oi_, not in front of the _reverend_…" Molly whispered.  
"Ignoring the existence of God," Sherlock said, ignoring her little protest, "We assume life is an accident, that life just _happened _and still happens. It evolves, it is random, and it has no need for a creator."  
"Yes, and there's nothing wrong with that." Molly said.

Suddenly, Sherlock turned to Molly, grasping both her hands in his and looked intently at her. Molly looked back him, a small, perplexed frown etched in her eyebrows.

"But then I look at you, Molly Hooper," he said, "And I cannot believe you sprung from a random cell that split and split some more from species to species to what you are now. Your mind, your character, your spirit, your heart…these are all intricacies that could _not _have occurred at random."

He took her hand and kissed it.

"If there ever was any evidence of God, Molly, that a creator existed and created this world we live in," he said, his eyes deep and awash with private emotion that escaped, "It would be you. You _cannot_ have occurred at random."

Molly blinked, slightly taken aback at this strange mesh of science and emotion in Sherlock's words.

"Well…" she said, bringing his hand to her lips, "I suppose I feel the same way about you. A mind like yours certainly could not have occurred at random either. Someone or something definitely designed you with great care."

Sherlock's eyes shone at her response. It was good to know she agreed, however bizarre his brand of theology had been.

"I want to acknowledge Him, at least for _this_ design," said Sherlock, looking down at her hands. "That's why I asked."  
"That's…a very beautiful thought, Sherlock, really," Molly said, removing one hand from his hold and reaching to touch his face gently.

"My dad would have been pleased to hear you say that." she whispered to him, as their foreheads touched.  
"Thank God for that…" he said with a laugh. "I shouldn't want to your old man to turn in his grave."  
"He would never. Not with someone like you, Sherlock." assured Molly.

Just then, the choir began to sing again. They were rehearsing for another service, later in the day.

_'Twas grace that taught my heart to fear  
And grace, my fears relieved  
How precious did that grace appear  
The hour I first believed._

The pair turned to look at the choir, taking in the ethereal voices that floated in the air around them.

"So, do you believe in God then, Sherlock Holmes?" Molly asked, with a smile.  
"Because of you, Molly Hooper," he replied, turning to face her, "I just might."

**END**


End file.
